


Hands Pulled From the Earth

by SunWeaver



Series: Pretty Good From A Certain Perspective [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Buried Alive, Dissociation, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Little proofreading done, Mild Blood, Sickfic, mentioned vomiting, resurrection AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 06:12:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19312258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunWeaver/pseuds/SunWeaver
Summary: Glory Run Road. A pretty fitting name for what would be known as the final resting place for a great member to the group known as The Mighty Nein. The grave was fairly shallow, the tousled dirt was obvious, but as a general marker for the grave, once it starts to settle, there’s a wooden branch, stuck into the ground and upright, hanging atop of it the ornate, embroidered coat.The fabric billows in the wind, the cold chill of winter coming in with the flakes of snow falling that begin to frost the yellowing grass, long since died.





	Hands Pulled From the Earth

**Author's Note:**

> All I want to say is that I'm very nervous because this is my first time posting a fic to this fandom! Ok thanks!

For the dropped temperature, a lumbering figure tries to pull tighter on his cloak. It does good at insulating his warmth and giving him a break from the icy air, but the old thing definitely was not tailored with his stature in mind. Just a little too small to fully cover him, he tries his best at keeping one arm fully covered at a time.

It was strange while having never been this far out from the Blooming Grove before, this path felt familiar. He did not recall traveling it any seasons before this one. If this was not familiar by conscious memory, then it had to be related to the subconscious visions he had when he slept.

A night ago, an awfully peculiar dream struck him. They did not come often, but when they did they were impeccable vivid. He dreamed of places he’d never been, the sand of a coastline, the mouth a gnarled cave, the boggy waters of a swamp. Sure he had heard of these places, but never did they come off in a clear fashion for him to understand why he had these dreams. They were just lonely vistas, with no distinct purposes for why he saw them there. None were specific on their instruction, that is until the latest one.

When his eyes had closed for the night, it felt as they reopened, and he was pulled out of his body. He became incorporeal, passing through the ceiling of his shack and above the tree line, a warmth that wrapped around him seemed to carry him through the sky. Watching the dense forest begin to disperse and wane, he was brought beyond fields and eventually descended down on dirt trail.

He felt his feet make contact with the earth, but he did not see them. None of his limbs existed, despite very distinctly feeling the chips of rocks and dirt under his soles. Where he landed was directly in the middle of this road. The direction he faced was that of a cape, draped over a stake into the grassy ground. After staring at it for a few moments more.

He woke up.

After which, he was pretty frantic about pulling himself out of his bed and into his clothes. Strapping on armor plates and grabbing his staff. That warmth which carried him through the brisk air in his dream continued to weigh on his shoulders like a thick cloak. Though it would not be enough to block out the ruthless cold, so he grabbed the old cloak from his younger seasons and set out. The Grove would surely be safe long enough for him to leave and come back.

Now he was on this familiar path, it was a strong wave of nostalgia for a place he’d only briefly viewed from a vision. And that’s when it caught his eye: the scarlet cape.

Doubling his step, he hurried over, eager to discover what this very thing was. His curiosity had eaten away at his nerves, he was close to giving up on this search after traveling for so long and the cold began to wear on him. But this was ultimately worth it to see he was not led astray.

Approaching the stake driven into the ground, he stopped short as the nature of this site became apparent. That wasn’t a wooden stake, it was a branch of a fallen tree a little ways up, it appeared less as a cape and more of a coat with large swooping sleeves where the reverse was blue, and the dirt appeared freshly disturbed. This was a crude grave.

He had his suspicions, what else would this be a marker for? The reason he was here was still unclear, but perhaps if he followed with the natural progression of undertaking-well, the body seems to already be buried. So he could skip a couple of the steps, and proceed with a simple prayer.

Kneeling himself down in front of the ground, staff held upright by one hand, he reached with his other to touch the soil. His eyes closed as he inhaled slowly and exhaled softly. He hoped for the Wild Mother to be present here, seeing this new body be returned to the land, to guide the soul on from this plane and onto the next. And with a tap of the bottom of the staff to the ground, he cast his spell to help the natural process of decomposing the body follow through.

His eyes fluttered open to look at the grave, and start to witness the flowers flourishing… But nothing.

Giving a frown and looking at the staff critically, the crystal did not lack its luster. This was strange and normally the effects were instantaneous, even if minor. And the usual course of magic did not come through. Instead, the ground still felt cold and untouched.

Aside from the whistling winds over this valley, there wasn’t a sound to be heard. He leaned forward and pressed his palm into the soft, springy dirt, thinking to try again-until he felt a tremble. It was strange, keeping his palm in place, he waited to feel for it again… And it came.

Something was moving.

This sent a jolt through his body, reflexively he pulled his hand back, standing up and stepping back a couple of paces. His eyes fixed on the ground, and both hands gripped the staff.

Watching with bated breath, he saw the dirt start to pulse. The hole was not that deep, and surely the dirt over it did not keep it fully restrained. As a precaution, he cast a spell on himself, something to hopefully keep him protected from this potential undead that would so readily burst out.

Though no, it was not quick. Not at the start at least. The dirt began to unsettle more and more, the piling of it began to roll off to the sides and a crack formed in the middle of it. He clutched all the tighter to his staff.

Through that crack, fingertips began to wiggle through, and then a palm. The entire hand shot out from under and began to grip and push at the ground. Seemingly trying to pull out the rest of the body attached to it.

It was now that curiosity came back in, and he watched the movements of the hand and arm. The fashion in which it was fervently trying to pull itself out did not seem to match the fashion of an undead that simply burrowed through like a mole. Wanting to fairly judge this springing limb, his eyes shifted in color. The pink irises turned a dull gray while the sclera completely shifted from white to black. Through these new eyes, he expected to see an aura emanate from the hand. But it didn’t.

Quickly, he blinked away the effect, as he dropped back down to his knees, setting aside his staff.

_Should he be doing this? Why was he so quick to react?_

Digging his fingers into the crack of the dirt, he tossed away clumps of soil, helping to free the arm further. Then came the elbow, and then came the shoulder. He noticed that this arm had lilac skin, ink set deep into it, painting the limb with extravagant designs: an arrangement of flowers with a snake curling around and through the flowers leading to the back of the hand where the snake with a red eye bared its fangs.

_Why would someone bury a living person? How long had they been buried here?_

In helping claw the dirt out of the way, the arm that had been straining so hard to pull out the rest of the body seemed to be weakening. Now frustrated, it was just mindlessly clawing and tearing up strands of grass. He tried to dig faster, and even stuck his hand down under, just under the shoulder of this person.

_How are you still alive? Who are you?_

Straining his own back, he had to quickly shift his feet under himself as he grabbed fistfuls of fabric and pull out from the earth this living, breathing body. The dirt finally rolled off and away, revealing shoulders up was a head with massive, curled horns. A tiefling.

He fell back on his own ass pulling out the top half of this body, who in turn was now choking violently. In a frantic motion, he rolled forward onto his knees to help guide the body out further from the shallow grave, patting hard between the shoulder blades to encourage for this person to hack and cough up any debris seeped deep into their nose and mouth. The body shook violently from the gagging and eventual retching that followed dislodging the soil from their windpipe. Disgustingly enough, it would seem even a few bugs came up with the awful mess. Though after each clearing cough, there finally came a desperate gasp of air.

He decided to climb around behind this body-this living being and grab them from under their armpits to pull them out fully from the earth and finally onto solid ground where they could continue their awful hacking.

After a minute more of this persisting, the breathing began to reclaim some form of normalcy. No more hyperventilating gasps mixed with forceful coughs. They were just left wheezing raspy breaths.

*-_-_-_-_-_-*

His lungs were on fire, each breath hurt to draw in, but if he held his breath any longer, the corners of his vision threatened to blur and blacken. The ground was cold, but now being exposed to the open air and having his fingers clutching into snow coated blades of grass made his body involuntarily shiver. The tips that dug in to try and keep him steady were going numb. This coldness and the fire in his chest were the only things he was consciously aware of.

The images before his eyes were not registering as anything, his eyes were blinking too much from the pain of grains of dirt getting in them and digging uncomfortably under his eyelids.

His actual self felt like it was floating just over him as if it was trying to reconnect with his body, but it was struggling to fit itself back in. His mind was an absolute haze of white noise, lost to any conscious feeling he ever once knew.

_Hollow._

_Barren._

_Vacant._

_Empty._

Then, just as that amorphous definition crossed his mind, something heavy came onto his back. And with that feeling that settled on his back, it was as if it was the final push to reconnect the soul with this mind and body.

His hearing was too deafened, the muffled sound of gentle rumbling came from behind him. Turning his head to the side absolutely threw off his balance, and he fell over to one side, hitting the deceptively hard ground with his shoulder. Slowly, sound began to come into focus, and even for how gentle and quiet it was, the wind felt awful too loud and the voice felt like it rumbled through his skull:

“ _\--ou hear me?_ ”

The meaning to those words eluded him, his eyes were teary, leaving dirty stains running down his cheeks out the corners of his eyes. His vision now began to show to him the visage of a very large creature that loomed over him.

Something reflexive kicked off inside him, as this visage began to blur and overlay with that of a frightening man, a human man, holding a glave that stuck out from his chest.

He began to flail his arms and kick at the ground to try and escape. Kicking his own tail and the pain to shoot up his spine seemed to remind him that he had one.

*-_-_-_-_-_-*

“Hey, hey-” He pulled back his hands and leaned away, “Easy now, shh shh shh.”

His shushing seemed to settle the crescendoing whimpers and growing yells, this freshly unearthed body was not only covered in stains from the dirt, but also the previously white tunic and colorful jerkin had been ruined by the massive amount of dried blood set into the fabric and leather.

The two stared each other down, the lilac tiefling’s ruby red eyes were wide and laser-focused on his face.

“... Don’t panic, I’m not going to hurt you.” He spoke firmly.

Glancing back over his shoulder to the coat, it seemed like a good idea right now to pick it up and wrap it around their shivering body. He made his movements slow and wide, rising to his feet, he stepped cautiously to the hole and stepped over the mounding dirt, plucking the coat off its perch.

As he began to carry it over, he noticed something small flutter out from the pocket, thankfully it got caught up inside one of the sleeves. He pulled it out, revealing to be a piece of folded paper. When the fold came undone, he could read a handwritten message in charcoal. The letters were a little smudged and the handwriting was difficult, but with enough scrutiny, he could make it out to be:

**_You are Mollymauk, search for the Mighty Nein_ **

He squinted at the spelling of “nein” since it was not one he was accustomed to. Most writings were hard enough to read, but this did seem like an interesting clue.

“Mollymauk?” He spoke aloud to the shivering being, “That’s your name?”

There was no certain response from them, they just shivered more and kept staring at him. Or perhaps staring beyond him at this point.

As he sauntered back over, he knelt down beside their body. Their eyes seemed fixed out in the direction he originally stood. By the wide set of their eyes, it seemed as though they were spacing out.

“Mhm,” He gently cleared his throat to try and catch their attention, but nothing seemed to happen.

As he then brought the coat up to drape on their shoulders, the weight of the coat seemed to ground them. Their eyes blinked incessantly as they began to dry from being open so wide for so long there.

“Mollymauk?” He repeated again.

*-_-_-_-_-_-*

_Mollymauk._

_Mollymauk._

_Mollymauk._

_Mollymauk. Mollymauk. Mollymauk. Mollymauk. Mollymauk._

That name began to fill the inside of his skull, almost threatening to crowd his brain until it burst.

This coat over his shoulders felt so heavy, but it was as if a missing piece of his was placed back into its slot in this all too complicated puzzle.

_Mollymauk. Mollymauk. Mollymauk._

“ _-know of the Mighty N..nyin_?”

That hollow feeling once in his gut was slowly refilled in by his entire essence. For as much of a relief as that should come to be, it actually felt terrible. It felt like it was just tossed in, all wet, soggy, and used. He was immediately very uncomfortable in his own skin.

“ _-lymauk?_ ”

His body felt like a cold shell, the shape and size wasn’t like it used to be. He was lighter, frail, his lungs still hurt and his fingers and toes were practically invisible to how numb they had gotten.

Suddenly, he was sitting up. Not by any of his own muscles straining to do so. Instead, the was the feeling a large warm arm supporting his back. His shoulder leaned into a pretty solid surface, which upon glancing at through his peripheral could see an emerald glint come off of it. The green cut off at an off white, short fur texture. And then he looked up to stare upon a face. And he half expected the face to be wrought with fear or distress, but somehow that wasn’t the case.

Maybe inquisitive, but the brows stayed fairly neutral, the lips only slightly parted, not a wrinkle of pensiveness in sight, and gentle eyes that stared down into him.

 _Into_ him.

Him.

 _Mollymauk_.

It was now that he began to feel his eyes burn again, not from the painful grains of dirt that clung uncomfortably on the surfaces of them. But rather with heat, with warm water flowing freely down from the tear ducts and rolled like big diamonds down his cheeks. His own face began to finally emote with knitting an awful grimace. And instead of choking up on more dirt, he choked out a sob. A strangled sob that wanted to be of relief, but instead came in the form of grief. He felt frustrated by this strange shock to his whole system, this disruption to what was once a natural flow, having worked so hard to be something better than all this. And now, it felt wrinkled and tainted.

His raspy voice gave a crackled wail out as his whole weight leaned into this large man. And in turn, he felt both arms come to embrace his rattling body. He went on to cry and yell.

 _Fucking. Mollymauk_.

*-_-_-_-_-_-*

He had not yet made sense of all this, of how this man- _Mollymauk_ -was alive right now. Surely, it was not by natural means and had this been a traditional resurrection, he ought to have his senses come back to him a lot quicker rather than having to dig himself out of his own grave.

He couldn’t imagine how Mollymauk would have climbed out all by himself, nor how Mollymauk would have survived out in the freezing cold and no support. Frankly, he did not want to try and theorize it. What mattered was that he was alive and he seemed to be in great pain.

Keeping his arms around Mollymauk to comfort and warm him, he whispered something just barely audible. Magic coursed through his touch and into Mollymauk’s body, any previous cuts sealed and bruises healed.

The sobbing continued on for several minutes, causing another coughing fit. Between crying and hacking, it was all beginning to wear him out. The haunted wails soon settling to pitiful whimpers and sniffles. Feeling Mollymauk’s body begin to relax against him seemed to indicate just how tuckered out all of this was.

 _Search for the Mighty Nein_.

Still unsure of who that company is, it was evident that Mollymauk was in no condition to run off by himself looking for them in Melora knows what direction. Instead, it would benefit him way more if he could heal somewhere safe and secure.

He seemed light enough, in fact his body seemed emaciated, so it was awful easy for a large firbolg such as himself to scroop Mollymauk up into his arms and rise to his feet. May Melora grant him the strength to carry Mollymauk all the way back to the Blooming Grove. He may have to switch sometime along the way to carry him on his back instead, but for now, this would work as Mollymauk seemed to nod off and rest.

**Author's Note:**

> Did some light edits to the tags as I've been planning more of the story out. Some of the tags did not fit for this fic specifically, so that's why I will be turning this into a series rather than add more chapters here!


End file.
